Lost and Found
by Elexandros
Summary: Peter gets lost in his own castle only to be found by Edmund. Who is also lost. Rather silly and pointless, but cute and fluffy all the same. I figure we can use some silliness. Warnings: SLASH. I SO warned you.
1. Chapter 1

Kays, this is absolutely pointless. At least, I think so. Some people seem to like it. Erm, I found it on my computer when I was making way for some major angst stuff I'm starting up for SubOrbital the Uber Awesome...it's a few chapters, and I never posted it cause I think it's stupid. (As I said.) But I think so silliness can do us all some good.

But anyway, I'll warn ya'll one last time. **_SLASH_**. I don't care if you don't like it and read it, but if you don't like slash and read it anyway, DON'T rant at me about it! I like, so warned you. Anway. I hope everyone enjoys. :)

* * *

**Lost and Found**

Three years into the Golden Reign of the Four Sovereigns and Narnia was at Peace.

Most of the leftovers still loyal to the White Witch had been either hunted down and done away with, or were so deep into hiding as to not be an immediate threat. Relations with surrounding countries were that of a quiet peace, the denizens of Narnia had little to complain of, and to top it all off, the weather was nice. Cair Paravel, magnificent in its noble splendour, was quiet.

For the moment.

Deep in one of the many twisting and turning passageways, Peter the Magnificent, High King over all of Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, and Lord of Cair Paravel was very lost. And very, _very_ upset about it.

For the past three years, Peter had been trekking through the countryside, hunting down various Nasties and visiting the different towns and villages that were spread throughout his kingdom, and as such, and spent precious little time at the Cair. But it was _his_ castle, damnit, and he should know his own way around! Or, at the very least, someone should have been thoughtful enough to post a map here and there.

Taking another turn, he found himself staring into a dimly lit corridor. Only a few torches, spread sporadically through the hall lit his way. (He had long since gone past any place with a window.) Sighing, Peter guessed he was probably somewhere deep within the cliff that the Cair was built onto, and that this passage probably didn't lead to his destination at all. But, never being one to turn down an adventure –no matter how stupid or pointless- Peter kept on. It had to lead somewhere, after all. Eventually.

Probably.

It was another ten minutes before Peter began to get _really_ irritated.

"Who in Aslan's name designed this?" Peter grumbled, "Really. I want to know who in their right mind thought all this was a good idea."

He knew the Cair was huge, but this was getting ridiculous. Most of these passageways were dark and damp, and though the walls were lined with doors, most just led to empty rooms. Some, though, were locked, which piqued Peter's curiosity, and while he had been given a master key upon his coronation, he hadn't quite thought to bring it with him. And, of course, he hadn't seen a single soul in the past hour or so (he guessed,) and there was no way to backtrack, as he'd lost his sense of direction some time ago. Plus, the mold was starting to make his nose itch.

Taking another left, Peter found himself down another corridor. Sighing, he pulled on the first door he saw. It opened to…

Nothing.

There was nothing there. Just more wall. It was a false door.

Peter's eye twitched. He stared hard at the blank wall, as though trying to will it to crumple away. Finally, he reared back and punched it. Hard. Which, in retrospect, was not a good idea. (Punching walls is almost always a bad idea.) Peter gave a yowl of pain and clutched his hand to his chest. In a spat of anger, he kicked at the doorframe, which only led to a throbbing big toe. Peter cursed wildly, and finally quieting, slid down and sat on the cold floor, resting his back on the wall to nowhere. This could get bad. Or it could get worse. Yes, worse. Because now the dampness of the floor was creeping through the seat of his pants.

Peter cursed again. Defeated by a wall. (His own wall, for that matter.) Then, as if on cue, his stomach began to growl. Cursing again, Peter rested his head back against the stone, closing his eyes. Perhaps just a quick rest would clear his mind so he could think straight and get out of here and back to the sunny corridors he knew.

* * *

Peter awoke sometime later to the sound of heavy footsteps. Groggy and fuzzyheaded, instincts kicked in and he leapt to his feet, grabbing for Rhindon. His hand met empty air, though, and before he had a chance to wonder where his sword went, a wave of dizziness swept over him. The corridor tilted wildly as he grabbed his head with a groan.

"Whoah. You okay there?" a familiar voice asked as two strong hands grabbed his shoulders, steadying him. Peter took a deep breath and looked up to see his brother's worried face. Ed's eyes were nearly black in the dim light, and though his face was worried, nothing could hide the glint of amusement in them.

"Yeah…yes. Of course." Peter said, straightening up and smoothing out his tunic, "Just stood up to fast. You know."

"Right. Yeah." Edmund grinned, "So. You always take naps down here?"

Peter glared, wiping grime off his backside.

"Thank you, no. I…ah…"

"Got lost."

"Course not."

Ed snorted and crossed his arms.

"Sure you're not lost, Peter?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, that's good then, because I have no idea where we are."

Peter whipped around and faced his brother, jaw dropping.

"What? Then how did you…when…where…" he spluttered, pointing accusingly at Ed, then randomly at the wall and corridor.

"Aren't we eloquent today, Peter."

"_How did you find me_?"

Edmund shrugged, "After you didn't turn up for our daily meeting with Orieus, I figured you were lost. Or murdered. But I put my money on lost and went looking."

"Murdered?" Peter asked, voice cracking.

"Well, it would have to be something drastic for you to miss an appointment, you know."

Peter huffed and crossed his arms. Ed grinned.

"But," he continued, "Seeing as Orieus didn't really have much to say anyway, I told him not to worry about it and that I'd go find you. That was…well, a good while ago now."

"And you just…randomly found me."

"Pretty much, yeah. Lucky, huh?"

"Oh, it's brilliant."

Edmund simply smiled and took up Peter's arm, earning him a rather perturbed look.

"Shall we be off, then?"

"To where?"

Edmund stuck out a dramatically pointed finger.

"Forward!"

* * *

"You really don't know where you are, do you?"

"I think I made that clear fifteen minutes ago, Peter. And fifteen minutes before that, too."

Peter kicked at the floor. He was still being along by the hand by an aimlessly wandering Edmund, who seemed to almost be enjoying himself.

"Okay, this time…third door on the right."

The pair had given up on trying every door, as they'd be there for hours more, and would instead pick random doors as they went down the hallways. Peter wrenched hard on a corroding handle, and succeeded only in breaking it off.

"Well done."

"Shut up."

"Maybe we can pry it open…"

"Is it really that important?" Peter asked exasperatedly, watching as Ed bent forward to examine the lock, " I mean, we can always try another. Please."

"No, no," Edmund said, trying to peer through the keyhole, "What's the point in choosing the doors if you're not going to open them?"

"Edmund, _please_," Peter moaned, spreading his hands, "I'm hungry. I'm tired. The seat of my pants is wet and _moldy_. I just want to get out."

Edmund stopped tinkering for a moment, considering this. Finally, he stood up and looked at Peter with an unreadable expression. And one Peter wasn't too sure he liked.

"Maybe…just maybe, I could be persuaded to move on."

Peter raised an eyebrow, and resisted the urge to step back from his brother.

"And, um, what, exactly, would persuade you?"

Edmund smiled widely, and took another step closer. He was now practically nose-to-nose with Peter.

"Kiss me."

"_What_?" Peter spluttered, stepping back.

"Kiss me, Peter. That's all."

The High King of Narnia blushed brightly in the dim light. He stared at his little brother, wide eyed, he opened his mouth once, then closed it again.

"Really, Peter you look like a fish. Are you going to kiss me or not?"

"No!"

Edmund huffed, looking hurt, and turned back to the door. Peter faltered, mind racing.

"I mean, I didn't…"

"Hmm?" Edmund didn't look up from his work, picking idly at the rusting lock with a fingernail.

"I…oh. Fine."

Ed practically pirouetted as he spun around to face Peter.

"Oh, good!"

"Quite."

"Yes..."

"…quite."

"Are you going to kiss me or not, Peter?"

"Quite. I mean…yes! Uh…"

Edmund stepped closer again, raising and eyebrow and smirking. Peter took a deep breath, lurched forward and planted a chaste little kiss on his brother's lips, before snapping back to attention.

Edmund waited a moment, then brought a contemplative finger up to his lips. Peter waited. Edmund scratched his chin, making various "hmm-ing" sounds, until finally:

"That, Peter, was pathetic."

Peter's face fell.

"What do you want?"

"I told you," Edmund said, planting his hands on his hips, "A kiss. And that, whatever it was Peter, will not cut it. That was pathetic. I expected more from you, oh _High King_. So, I suppose you really don't want to get out of here all that quickly. So, pardon me, I'm gonna keep at this door."

With that he turned, and with apparently all other options run out, stared at the door. Peter, for his part, was utterly flabbergasted. He flailed his hands.

"But I-"

"Let me down, Peter. You let me down. Now let me think."

"I…wha…"

"Hush. Clearly this door won't open on it's own. Maybe it needs-"

He was cut off by his brother's hands on his shoulders, forcibly turning him around and then Peter's lips smashing against his. Edmund allowed himself a smirk before forcing Peter's lips apart and taking full advantage of the situation. Peter "oomphed" into his mouth and pulled him closer as Ed's tongue met his.

And, surprising both of them, it was Edmund that broke it off, gasping.

"Now that, was kiss."

"I'm glad you approve."

"Oh, I knew you had it in you. And besides, was it really all that bad?"

Peter said nothing.

"You're blushing again."

"Well, I-"  
"Liked it!"

Peter looked over at Edmund. He could still feel his lips on his, he could still taste him in his mouth. Yes. Peter liked it.

"I-" he started, but was cut off by the sound of his own stomach growling. And Edmund, much to Peter's dismay, laughed out loud at it.

"Hey! I haven't eaten since breakfast! And it has to be well past lunch by now!"

"Peter, it's probably well past dinner," Ed said, grinning widely, "And this is coming from the person who is known to go days without meals…because he can be an idiot like that."

"That's only when I'm busy."

Edmund smiled wider, "You're cute when you pout."

Peter froze stock-still and stared at his brother.

"Anyway!" Ed clapped his hands, "Let's get going! I'm hungry too!"

He grabbed Peter by the hand once more, pointed valiantly to the right, and strode purposefully forward, dragging his big brother behind him.

"By the way, Peter, where were you headed when you started in on this mess, anyway?"

"…the kitchens."

Ed laughed again and took off.

* * *

A/N: So. That's that. Two more chapters still to come. Unless I feel like changing things. Who knows with me. :D But yeah, let me know what you all think. (NO ranting about the kissy scene...unless you think it was badly written or something. Thats cool. Pointers are always welcome!) 


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: Peter and Edmund are still lost, but hey, at least Ed's enjoying it.

Notes: Even I don't know where I'm going with this. Actually, I do. I just can't figure out why I wrote it in the first place. BUT! Anyway, hope you all enjoy. Standard disclamers apply, as in, I own nothing, no profit, blah blah blah.

Also: SLASH! That's right...once more **_SLASH_**. Boys kissing. Yes. That's what slash is. I do NOT want any flames because of it. You've all had fair warnings, kay? Right. Now then...

* * *

"Okay. Now this is really starting to get me irritated." 

"Really? It only took you this long?"

"Shut up, Peter, I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"Stuff."

"What could you possibly be thinking of! You keep leading us no-where, and-"

"Oh shove it, at least I'm trying."

"I was trying too, you know."

"Yeah. Sleeping is really working hard."

"I was taking a break!"

"My arse, you were!"

Peter had to forcibly hold himself back from hitting Edmund upside the head. They had come to a fork in the road, as it were, and Edmund simply couldn't decide which to take. He stood in the middle, hands on his hips, looking back and forth between the two. Peter, on the other hand, had taken to sulking a few steps behind him. His pants had dried off, but he was as hungry as ever. And hungry teenagers were never a good thing.

"Go left." Peter said through his teeth.

"Left?"

"Yes. Left."

Edmund surveyed the corridor in question.

"Why left?"

"Cause I say so."

"Is that all?"

"Does there _need_ to be more?" Peter growled.

"Suppose not."

Ed took off, marching to some tune he was humming, with Peter following closely behind, shoulders sagging, and fists clenched.

"Which door this time? How about, second on the right?" he asked, not waiting for an answer, nor looking for one. Peter grunted behind him.

Edmund stopped infront of the door, seemed to think a moment, and then stepped aside.

"You open it Peter."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Peter sighed, but stepped forward and pulled the door open. He peered inside.

"I can't see. Probably just another empty room, though."

"One moment, then."

Peter spun around to the sound of his brother's retreating footsteps.

"Ed! Where are you going! Don't you dare leave me-"

"Relax," came Ed's voice, "I'm just snagging one of the torches."

And sure enough, he came bounding back, torch in hand.

"You know," Peter mused, "I wonder if these have to be lit by someone, or if they're just really idiot torches that don't know when to go out."

"Dunno." Edmund said, ducking into the room, "I guess we'll have to ask some time."

"Right. That'll be first on my priority list."

"Don't be such a wet blanket…oh! Hey!"

"What? What is it?"

Peter peered anxiously into the room. Had Edmund found another doorway? A secret passage? A map? Maybe even some fried chicken and potatoes with a nice pint of stout…

"Look what I found!" Edmund proclaimed merrily, coming out with something cradled in his arms. Upon closer inspection, Peter had to fight his urge to throttle his brother.

Nestled in his arms was a brown, molted, dying, potted plant.

"Ed," Peter said through gritted teeth, "I hope I can eat that."

Ed looked down, "You know, I'm not sure. Wouldn't try it, though. It doesn't look too good."

"Okay. Right. Well. Put that thing down and lets get moving again."

"Put it down?"

Peter turned, oh-so slowly, rounding on his brother.

"You mean to keep it?"

Edmund smiled, "Well sure. There's still some life left in the little guy. We can nurse him back to health. It can be like our little pet."

Peter felt the beginnings of headache coming on. He abruptly about-faced, and marched down the corridor.

"You know, I think I preferred the kissing!" he called over his shoulder.

"You know! I did too!"

Peter threw his hands up into the air. By Aslan, was this ever going to end?

Ed's voice still carried on behind him,

"You know, maybe we should name him."

"Him?"

"Our plant."

"_Our_ plant?"

"Yes. Our plant. I think, maybe…Archibald."

"Idiotic."

"Phinneus"

"Pathetic."

"Yeah…oh, I know. Petey."

Peter stopped dead in his tracks.

"Yes. Yes I think so. Petey it is."

Peter let out something between a growl and a howl and kicked at the nearest door. Much to his dismay and surprise, however, his foot went right through the rotted wood. Cursing, Peter tugged at his foot, only to find it well and stuck.

"Edmund."

"Yes, brother."

"Do be a dear and help out."

Edmund came into view, still holding the torch in one hand, and Petey the Miraculous Potted Plant in the other. Peter gritted his teeth, and tried another vain tug. Edmund tsk-ed and handed Peter the torch, taking a closer look at the boot the door held prisoner.

"Oh, I think I can help."

"Please. Do."

"There's a condition."

Edmund ducked down swiftly and unblinkingly as Peter's hand swiped at the area where his head was. He shifted the plant in his arms.

"You're wedged in there pretty good, O' brother. I'd be nice if I were you."

Peter groaned loudly.

"Fine. I'll do whatever. Just get me out."

"Alrighty. First-"  
"You mean there's more than one?"

"FIRST," Edmund straightened, clearing his throat, "You have to promise to give up the grouchy attitude and be a bit more personable. I'm in this mess too, you know."

"I don't see your foot in a door."

"Peter…"

"Alright, alright." Peter took a deep breath, and rubbed his face with his hands. "I swear it to you. I'll do my best to keep myself in check. I'm sorry, Ed."

"That's alright. At least now, we got that covered. Now, secondly," he grinned wildly, "You have to kiss me again."

There was a very pregnant pause.

"Again?" Peter squeaked.

"Again. Besides, you were the one who said you'd rather be kissing."

"Fine, fine. Just get me out."

Edmund smiled wider and set Petey gently down to the side. He then nimbly began to untie the laces on Peter's boots, humming as he did so. Peter, on the other hand, was getting rather tired of standing on one leg.

"Just a moment, now," Edmund's voice came from somewhere around Peter's knees, "We'll get your foot out first, then your boot…just need something to wedge in there…" he felt around his tunic, and from seemingly nowhere, pulled out a small dagger.

"Here we are then-"

"Edmund, dear?"

"Hmm?"  
"Are you planning to wedge that inbetween my foot and the door?"

"Yes."

"Please, please, for the love of Aslan be careful."

Edmund simply chuckled.

"Oh, no worries. I'm plenty good at-"

A sudden, very, very loud noise cut them off. Something between a roar and a scream and something very metallic echoed off the walls of the corridor, shaking dust from the rafters. Edmund shot upright, and Peter's lips thinned to a line.

"Peter, that was a-"

"Fury."

"Inside Cair Paravel?"

Peter squinted into the darkness, trying to see past the little light the few torches offered.

"I think we're the first people to come down here in a long time, Ed. He's probably been hiding out down here for a while."

Another screeching roar reverberated past them, and Peter could swear he felt the air around him move in its wake.

"Edmund?"

"Yeah?"

"Get me out."

"Yeah."

Edmund began to work feverishly on the door that held his brother captive, while Peter continued to scan the corridor, gripping the torch tightly. He could here scratching, slithering noises moving somewhere up ahead. It wasn't on top of them, yet, but it certainly could get that way fast. He could feel his brother's nimble fingers begin to unlace his boot, breathing just slightly faster than normal.

"Try it now, Peter."

The High King gave a mighty tug but the foot, lodged in above the ankle, remained unmoving. The rest of him, however, became very unbalanced and, foot slipping out from under him, Peter landed heavily on his shoulder.

"Oww…."

"Geez, Peter--"

The Fury screamed again, and this time it sounded much, much closer. Very much around the corner and down the hall. Peter gripped the torch, which miraculously had neither gone out nor caught his hair on fire. If this thing found them, he could at least singe its eyebrows.

Edmund, brow furrowed, pulled his dagger out of the door with an almighty yank, sending it clattering to the floor. Then he reached around and grabbed Petey by the pot, just as the beast rounded the corner.

* * *

**A/N**: Kay, so there it is! Chapter two! Be prepared for the upcoming chapter three! (Imagine!) After this fic, though, my stuff's taking a rather angsty turn. So, love a little humor while you can. Reviews are love. You know they are. :D 


	3. Chapter 3

I'm back. Sorry for taking so long, to some, and to others, sorry I've returned. :) Something ate my password, I think, and I had a serious amount of issues trying to get back here. So now: Updated story, as well as the chance to go and review all of those lovely stories everybody's been writing! I've read them, I've loved them, and now I can go and tell you guys how much. Yays!

Anyway, here's Chapter Three. Enjoy, or go rushing to the nearest toilet. **This is still slash**, even if there isn't much in this chapter. It's very simple: If you don't like slash, I don't care. Write your review, whether you liked it or hated it, but don't complain to me for writing it. That's all. Secondly, to my dear flamers: How terribly original. I'm glad you took time out of your clearly busy schedule to go all over this place and tell everybody off for writing stories about a story. It's great. I love getting laughs early in the morning as I check my e-mail.

* * *

The fury came hurtling around the corner, all teeth, claws, and pointy bits. Jaws snapping wildly, it let out a horrific scream, arching its back and spreading its shadowy wings across the span of the hallway. 

Edmund didn't so much as bat an eyelash as he raised Petey the Potted Plant high above his head, and brought it crashing down. On the door. Which buckled and splinted, releasing the ankle of the High King.

Ed whirled on the monster, still clutching Petey in one hand. The fury reared, the stink of copper, rot, and something akin to moldy eggs filling the hall. Edmund raised an eyebrow, still crouched low, and he snatched the plant by the roots, and swung wide. The pot smashed across the monsters face, and it's head was knocked to the side.

There was a pause as the fury seemed to consider this fact: two living things that did not seem to be either A.) roaches, or B.) rotten, had just wandered oh-so-helplessly into his domain, which he had been keeping rather nicely, thank you very much, and whilst trying to partake in a decent meal for the first time in ages, one just whacked him round the head with what seemed to be nothing less than a decrepit potted plant.

The fury blinked. Edmund blinked. Peter blinked from the heap he was in on the floor.

Then it all began again. The fury reared back, bringing its snapping jaw down upon Edmund, who sprang from where he was crouching and rolled swiftly to the side. Too slow in realizing that its lunch was no longer where it was supposed to be, the beast warbled into a nose-dive, its snout crashing into the floor right next to a yelping Peter.

But Peter, as damp, cranky, and put-out as he was, wasn't High King just because he was handsome. Stretching his arm behind him, he took the moment where the fury seemed to consider that it was also now nose-first into the floor with its hindquarters up in the air in a rather ungraceful fashion, and rolled and grabbed for the knife Edmund had dropped. His fingers just grazed it the first time, the blade mere inches from his grasp. Just as the fury decided he had had about enough of these two meat-bags, Peter lurched himself forward, fingers wrapping around the knife, and he sprang around, facing the monster with little more than the equivalent of a Narnian butter knife.

If monsters could have giggled, this one would have.

But monsters generally can't, and as such, the fury, scraping its toes along the floor, launched itself forward, ramming Peter in the stomach with its own long head. Peter grunted, but managed to grab hold of the fury by the horns.

The next second, the fury had reared up, snarling, and the High King of Narnia found himself upside down, looking down a scaly back of spikes, topped off with a couple of wings attached just for good measure. Not exactly what he wanted to be doing today.

"Hanging in there, Peter?"

The words that next came out of Peter's mouth were some that should never, ever be repeated in the company of anyone. Ever. Edmund, however, would later give kudos for the eloquence and creativity of them. (It is said that the game 'Peter's Fancy', which involves a group of people, several pints, possibly a few shots, any socks on hand, and the seediest tavern to be found has its origins in the re-telling of this tale.) It was a moment before something more…printable was spoke.

"Ed, for the love of it all, do something useful!" He yowled, legs kicking in the air.

Edmund stood, hand on his chin, surveying what he had at hand. The mental list ended up as this:

A potted plant.

His brother, although, this was currently upside down on the back of a scaly, smelly, and rather pointy beast.

Said beast itself.

The torch.

Aha!

Making a rather foolish dive in between the legs of the flailing creature he grabbed the torch.

Rolling onto his back, Edmund jabbed upwards. He didn't aim, but it hit the creature in a rather sensitive spot nonetheless. He winced for the fury.

"Eargh." Peter added, eyes wide.

The fury, after a rather painful pause, reared horribly, crunching Peter against the ceiling. The young king yelped, letting go of one of the horns, and swinging the knife blindly downwards. A nasty squelching noise, followed by a screech that filled the entirety of the corridor, making the dust on the floor vibrate and Edmund clap his hands over his ears.

Peter had stabbed it in the eye.

The fury reared back in agony, limbs and wings flailing madly, sending Peter flying off its back and into a heap up against the wall. Edmund glanced briefly back at Peter, who was blinking dazedly, before turning back to the flailing fury. He watched as it jerked and screeched in it's death throes, and he felt oddly sympathetic for it: but survival was survival, and keeping him and his brother safe was top priority for the moment.

Him, his brother…and Petey!

The potted plant was laying helplessly on its side, right in the middle of the fury's thrashing limbs. Taking a deep breath, Edmund knew what he had to do. He ran full-tilt into the fray, stooping just long enough to grab the poor plant and run back out, jumping through legs and arms like some deranged game of hopscotch. He slid along the floor, crashing into a Peter who was trying to stumble to his feet (only to be knocked down again,) and held Petey to his chest, watching wide-eyed as the monster gave one final gurgle, before finally flopping still.

"…Wow." Ed assessed.

"I like pancakes, mummy." Peter warbled from his heap on the floor.

Edmund arched an eyebrow, looking from the heap o' monster, to Petey, to Peter, then back to Petey again.

"You know," he addressed the plant solemnly, "I don't think Orieus would much approve of Peter laying around after battle with his bum up in the air."

* * *

"My nose hurts." 

"Took one to the conker, did you Peter?"

"That's a horribly offensive word, you know."

Edmund laughed, causing Peter to wince as tried to figure out how to simultaneously rub his nose and the back of his head without looking like a complete moron. So far, he was having little luck.

"You look like a complete moron, Peter."

"Thank you, Ed. Love you too."

"Petey loves you too."

"I'm gonna take Petey and shove him where the sun don't shine, Ed."

"That's not grammatically correct, you know."

"Neither is my foot up your arse, but that isn't gonna stop me."

"Point taken."

Peter continued to grumble, his stomach joining in, as Edmund held out a hand to help him sit up. (The other hand being occupied with holding the potted plant.) Peter gratefully took it, lurching to his feet in a rather ungraceful fashion.

"Now then," he said, brushing himself off the best he could. "Where were we?"

"I do believe we were on a quest to the kitchens, really."

Peter nodded, before pointing his finger in a vague but dramatic pose.

"In that case…onward!"

"Isn't that my line?" Ed asked, not moving.

Peter didn't move either.

"If you don't start walking in the direction this kingly finger is pointing, I'll eat that mangy plant of yours."

"Onward!" Edmund cried, pointing along and marching purposefully into the dark.

* * *

A/N: Short, but there's a reason. :) I'm still writing more, have no fear. Or fear. Whichever you prefer. Tell me whatchya think! 


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